


Blessings and Curses

by karrenia_rune



Category: Marvel 1602, X-Factor (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Big Bang Challenge, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>X-Factor has long been on unofficial retainer for Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, but when she is murdered and James the 1sth ascends to throne, that status is endangered.  An invitation to a masquerade ball gets them mixed up in a deadly conspiracy and with the help of new allies they must race against the clock to save one man’s life and themselves from those who would see the Witchbreed destroyed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessings and Curses

**Author's Note:**

> The mix I made to accompany the story can be found on Spotfiy, with the list of song tracks here: http://open.spotify.com/user/1234865710/playlist/5emjQ0kZzv2gI19ghKYxhU
> 
> Or it can also be found on the file sharing site Mediafire here: https://www.mediafire.com/#o2e9t1nj1kj3k

Disclaimer: X-Factor and all of the characters who appear here or are mentioned belong to their respective creators, writers, etc. They are not mine. The Marvel 1602 verse also belongs to Marvel; none of which are mine and are only ‘borrowed’ for the purposes of the story. An AU-themed story featuring the entire team and written for the 2013 Comics Big Bang 2013.  
Note on the names: Lionel is Longshot, Gideon Carosella is Guido, and in this particular verse, Theresa’s father, Sean, is alive. James Madrox, is referred to as Jamie, or his surname, and Layla’s name is unchanged. Rictor is Julian (Julio) and Shatterstar’s name remains the same. With much thanks to my beta reader miraski! 

“Blessings and Curses Both in Disguise" by karrenia 

The invitation came by courier, which in itself was significant, although to James Madrox ‘s way of thinking that if, they being members of the upper class troubled to send an invitation in person, the least they could have done was find someone a little bit better than a fellow with delusions of grandeur to deliver it to them. 

The man himself was tall, but his height was not nearly as apparent because of his tendency to slouch, his hose had holes at the knees and his orange white and green doublet was rumpled at the waist and elbows. Still, he was a courier, and judging by the seal, working for a member of the nobility of some significance among the movers and shakers of Her Majesty’s the Queen’s court. 

Speaking of which, their firm had solved more than a few convoluted and complex and often both dangerous and troubling cases for the queen that perhaps this invitation was not entirely unexpected.

He took the letter from the courier, made the man comfortable in the salon, gave him wine and bread, and then went to the upper office and into his study, removing the seal with his fingers and scanning the contents as he walked up the stars, taking them two at a time. He had a feeling that something ‘big’ was about to occur. 

Business had been a bit slow at the moment, so anything to break up the monotony of day-day administration and the occasional missing person, or stranded cat in a tree, or God forbid, actual paperwork.

Opening the door and entering his study Jamie found his wife, Layla, waiting for him.

“How do you always manage to get the jump on everyone?” he asked.

“Come now, dear, you know me; I know stuff.”

“Did you know we’d get an invite?”

“I had a pretty good idea,” she replied.

“It’s from Cassidy Manor, a masquerade ball.”

“May I see it?”

“Certainly,” he replied, handing over the letter.

She took the letter between her index finger and ring finger, handling as if it were either too delicate for a hastier touch, or, perhaps she feared it was one of the types of poisoned correspondence that they’d received in the past several months. 

Trying to guess at the identity of the senders of this type of correspondence just made his head spin. 

Given the infrequency of such things, it was a good thing for all of them, that the one hand, they now know what to look for; that Layla was an expert on identifying and various types of poisons, and lastly, that at least one of their members was pretty much invulnerable and thereby immune to poisons and other nasty things.

“Well?” he asked.

“It’s legit, and I definitely think we should attend this masquerade, but just remember it’s Midsummer Eve, and when everyone goes masked and everyone pretends to be something other than what they are, we have to be especially on the alert. Spread the word to the others.

“For the sake of argument, and I’m not saying that you’re wrong, but we do have a contact on the inside that we could contact once we arrive at Cassidy Manor.”

“The blacksmith?” she asked, one finely-drawn blond eyebrow rising ever so slightly.

“Yeah, that’s the one. We’ve worked with him before and he’s a decent fellow. I think that if anything untoward or suspicious is going on we can count on him.”

“I concur,” she replied. “In the meantime, we should tell that courier to go back with our respects and our RSVP, saying that we will be most delighted to attend.” She stepped to the desk and placed the envelope and the invitation down on, next to a pile of other documents and letters.

“I’ll get right on that,” he said.

“It can wait,” replied Layla, as she stepped forward, twined her arms around his neck and pulled him for a lingering passionate kiss, pulling his dark-haired head down where they would be on even footing. For a few seconds; he was a bit taken aback by it, but soon returned her kisses as eagerly as she gave them.

When they both came up for air, he said, “I love you,” he exclaimed.

“I know,” she replied, flashing an off-center grin and a mischievous glint in her eye that he so loved and admired, but all the same seemed more than a little disconcerting now and again. Just now, he found it endearing and mysterious. He supposed it was the nature of their relationship that seemed to foster on the duality of thing compared to another.  
**  
The Masquerade Ball 

For all that they were considered minor nobility in the complex layers of upper class bluebloods, Cassidy Manor had been decorated for the anticipated event of the season, with the gates, and immaculately manicured lawns decorated with bunting, and garlands, and with guards clad in breeches and livery in the clan's orange, green and white colors. 

Jamie and Layla stepped out of the hired coach, and gave the man a tip for a relatively smooth ride considering both the traffic and the fact that it had taken some convincing to get Monet St. Croix and Lionel St. Cyr to accompany them. With the former, the difficult had been due to the fact that she had either preferred to walk or to fly over. 

She had at last conceded the validity of their point that by openly flaunting their abilities it would draw far too much unwanted attention to herself and by association to the other members of their firm. 

For the latter, well, he had been on-board with that decision when they had told him that he could wear whatever costume he chose.

Madrox, sighed and stepped away from the carriage, with instructions to have the man come back at a quarter to midnight and pick them up, and sealed the man’s promise with an additional handful of shiny silver coins. 

Since the arrival of the invitation and his ensuing conversation with Layla, he was convinced that something more than a social event was in the offing, and he wanted to be prepared just in case. 

He really did not know much about the Cassidy Clan, other than the fact that were expatriates from Ireland and had a reputation of both hospitality and philanthropy. The head of the clan, one Sean Cassidy had spent a great deal of his time away from the land of his birth and his adopted one, but what his business would take him away from his only daughter, was something that kept the proverbial wheels turning over and over in his mind. 

Jamie could feel the pressure of Layla’s hand in his own, and he offered her a reassuring smile. She returned it with one of her own, and as if she could read his mind, she remarked. “Whatever is going on here, I’m certain that we will find out soon enough.”

She used her free hand to adjust the fit of her elaborate butterfly mask, its colors of green and gold accentuating her blue eyes and they strode towards the manor entrance where they were asked to present their invitations for inspection by the guard. When that task was done, they were ushered into a massive entry hall.

Inside the entry hall they joined a throng of other guests streaming like a river in flood towards the ball room, where the sounds of mingled conversation, tinkling champagne glasses and laughter, and music grew louder and louder the near they came to it.  
**  
Lionel, with his smooth ways and charming, but disarming air felt he was best suited to ‘schoomze’ the crowd, or whatever Madrox had meant by that. As far as he was concerned, he figured it could not hurt to start making his way through the guests and see what he could discover.

Even with the glittering throng and the stand against the far wall for the orchestra to perform the ballroom still felt as if where an echoing cavern, albeit an incredibly lavish and illuminated one. 

Lionel, never one to hug the wall when he could be mingling and rubbing shoulders with the well-to-do, immediately began to ingratiate himself with the ladies, smoothly and glibly asking their male escorts if he could cut in. 

He approached one lady after another, spinning and dipping them in the intricate steps of the dances, timing his movements almost in perfect harmony with the rhythms of the music; slow step here, three fast, two short, a dip of the head just so, then a twirl of his current partner.

Most gave way to Lionel quite willingly, stepping to one side or snatching another long-stemmed champagne glass from a passing servant, or discussing matters of mutual interest with one another; such as the juicy rumor circulating around court about the turn for the worst that her Majesty Queen Elizabeth had taken, and that how much the course of her illness had confounded all the court physicians.

Like their husbands, beaus, and escorts, these ladies were also not hesitant to talk, and they kept up a steady stream of conversation during lulls in the dancing, fanning themselves with their tiny hand fans.

“I don’t think I caught your name, Sir…”one lady essayed.

Lionel bowed, and said, I am remiss in my manners. I shall immediately seek to rectify that oversight. I am Lionel St. Cyr.”

“Mildred Ragnell, here, good Lionel, and I am pleased to have made your acquaintance.”

Lionel bowed. “You were saying earlier, about how the court physicians are at their wit’s end.”

“I have a sister’s son who serves at the palace as one of the queen’s ladies’ in waiting, a dear thing and one we all quite fond of him, Dear, Rebecca. And according to most recent letter I received from her, she is quite fearful for the Queen’s life. “

“In general or specifically?,” asked Lionel.

“I honestly don’t know, but I understand that it might be that sleeping sickness that has been afflicting our neighbors across the Channel,” replied Mildred in an undertone.  
Lionel nodded his head, slowly, all the while retaining his hold on her wrist. “I have heard of these rumors, too, but I have faith that best physicians in England will find a way to restore her Majesty to health.”

“I certainly hope so,” Mildred remarked rather more forcefully than any tone she had previously used before, “because if something did happen to Elizabeth; that jackal of a cousin of hers would ascend to throne, and then where we all be? I’ll tell you, much worse off than before. James has ambition, too much for his own good.”

“I’m afraid, I don’t follow,” replied Lionel,” thinking even as he did so, that his fabled ‘luck’ had steered him the right direction, and sooner than into the evening than even he had anticipated.

At that moment, a chimed resounded through the room, causing several among the gathering to start, and a livery clad servant, more than likely the butler, arrived to announce that dinner was served.  
***  
Sean Cassidy began by welcoming all of his guests. “Thank you all for coming tonight, because I am aware that some of you had much further to travel than others.”

It was apparent that their hosts had spared no expense this evening and were not as backward as some as their detractors believed. Their host had dressed simply in a tall-crowned hat with brooch pinned to the brim, a green and white tunic with a padded vest with slashed sleeves worn over it; the shirt was open at the neck and his well-formed legs were covered with wide garters instead of the traditional hose that were still favored by most men, and his feet were clad in leather shoes with small heels and pointed twos. 

His daughter, Theresa had her flaming red hair piled up on the crown of her head covered by a gauzy ivory-colored pearl-trimmed cap and she wore a matching pearl necklace and earrings. Her gown trimmed in silver and lattice work.

Seated at the head of the long dining table, Sean Cassidy held forth in a charming yet disarming manner that held the attention of everyone gathered in the room. His daughter, was equally charming and pleasant. 

Monet and Layla had also chosen their gowns with care, skipping on the veil mostly due to monetary concerns. 

Jamie sighed, and wondered if the entire evening was going to be a dreary repetition of courtly mores. He hated dressing up, much more comfortable in the plain dress of the everyday man, but the unspoken tone in the language of the invitation had set all of his nerve endings on alert,; and Layla had spoken as if she ‘knew’ that something untoward might happen tonight, and it was going to happen here. When you put two and two together, well, it was not hard to arrive at the obvious sum of four.  
**  
Even seated, the man at Theresa’s left hand was big, as in Colossus of Rhodes of big; his arms, torso and neck as big around as an ale barrel, but when he stood it was remarkable how considerably larger his upper body was to his lower half. 

 

Oh, not that he was in immediate danger of toppling over, but his legs were smaller in comparison to his upper half. He was dressed as every other guest was in a mask, a simple black diablo, with a shimmering white diamond pattern stitched onto the fabric in the center.

Theresa saw that Madrox was staring at him, but did not point it out, “Ah, Mr. Madrox, where are my manners? I’ve failed to introduce you to Sir Gideon de Carosella, or as I prefer to call him, Guido. He is an exile from Venice, Italy and fled to my native Ireland. When our family’s fortunes took us here to England he simply refused to be parted from us, and he’s been by my side ever since.”

“Pleasure to met you,” he said. The big man smiled: a big devil-may-care one that stretched the skin of his face tightly against the bones, and showed all of his even with teeth. “

“Likewise,” Madrox replied. Wondering even as he did so that while he immediately felt a kind of mutual liking to the big man and with what little he had so far learned about him; given all that muscle he was not entirely certain that he could survive such a friendship. 

Following shortly on the heels of that thought, came another, if the Cassidys’ trust him, and it would seem that they do, then I must learn not to make any conclusions, just because he’s big and strong, doesn’t mean he’s stupid’

Sean Cassidy next words broke into James Madrox’s meandering chain of thought quite neatly.

“Well, we shall have a chance to become better acquainted after dinner. In the meantime, am I certain that our chef has outdone himself tonight. So without further ado, please, begin!” Theresa exclaimed and flashed a smile that was brighter than the light of the oil lamps and torches in their sconces on the wall.

Dinner was a series of five courses, beginning with a salad of fresh greens followed by a plain but hearty cabbage and sausage soup, then a plate of mixed vegetables sautéed in butter; and each dish was consumed the efficient servants came and whisked the empty plates and containers away.  
***  
Later that same evening Theresa and Sean confirmed that they had indeed been the recipient as well of subtle and some not so subtle threats in recent weeks. 

The team confirmed that they too, have received similar threats, as well. The timing could not be a mere coincidence. In fact Madrox is convinced that if quacks like a duck, waddles like a duck, and looks like a duck; therefore, it must be a duck.

A servant entered the den while they were talking and conversation dropped off as the man approached the master and said, “Sir, a package arrived for you. Should I just leave it on the mantel?

“No, put it on the table,” Sean replied.

“Very good, Sir,” replied the servant and discreetly exited the room as he had entered it.

Sean stepped over to the table, placing his whiskey glass down on the table as he reached it, in order to heft the brown paper package, jostling and turning it every which way much in the manner of a child eagerly anticipating the contents of his Christmas presents.

“Ah, Da, shouldn’t we find out who sent it first?” asked Theresa.

“Me thought is that it’s something from the black sheep of our clan, you know he only gets in touch by remove, when he bothers to get in touch at all.”

“Tis no need to go airing our family’s business in front of strangers, Da,” she replied.

“Right enough,” he replied, and then set the package down and glanced at the label. “Hmmph, it’s marked, ‘from a friend. Well, if that’s unhelpful and cryptic as all get out.”

“If you’ll pardon the observation, Mr. Cassidy, but the word that comes to my mind, is suspicious,” remarked Monet.

“Thank ye, lass. I guess the only way to find out is to open the damn thing.” He began to do so, stripping away the layers of metal and lead a piece or two at time, sometimes in broad swathes until the contents had been revealed.

“What the bloody hell!” Sean exclaimed when the contents of the package had at least been revealed.

Sean uttered a low, speculative whistle, his hands stuffed into his pockets of suit jacket. 

“It’s a music box,” Lionel observed. 

“I know what it is, but why would anyone send such a thing on to me? Unless it was mistakenly meant for me daughter instead?” exclaimed Sean Cassidy; now that the red ribbons and brown wrapping paper had been strewn about the floor of the den. 

Layla stepped forward to examine the item in question: it was a white lacquer box with ivory inlay and two swans pivoting on their stands. In the dim light of the gas lamps and by candlelight, there appeared to be a subtle shimmer to the wind-up mechanism.

“Did you touch it?” she asked Sean Cassidy.

“No, not really, I may have just fiddled with the wind-up mechanism, why do you ask?”

“Because you’ve just been poisoned,” replied Layla.

“Come off now, lass. How could such a wee bit like you…” the remainder of his sentence trailed off in a fit of ragged coughing, and his daughter rushed to his side to hold him upright, as he broke out into a cold sweat and she shouted for someone to bring him water.

Madrox did so and handed it over.

Theresa took it and held up near to her father’s mouth so that he could drink. Theresa, while worried, continued to support him and encourage him at the same time; but she knew without having to be told that this was bad, but it could very well get worse. 

Madrox was thinking all the while that this was bad, very bad, if his immediate supposition was correct and he believed that it was without having to look to Layla to confirm his suspicion; their host had just been poisoned.

Monet crossed the distance between where she sat in an over-stuffed armchair, and helped Theresa steady the older man and then together they kept him upright long enough to get from the fireplace to the armchair and settled him into it.

Meanwhile Layla, careful not to touch the wind-up mechanism herself, sniffed and sniffed and picked up the box, pried open the lid of the device, and removed a note that had been tucked in between the top and lower halves.

“We’ve got a case, not to mention a problem,” she remarked.

“You think I didn’t know that,” he retorted, angry himself at the way the events of this evening had turned out, but the thing of it was, he was uncertain even in his own mind at just what or who his anger was directed at, himself, the circumstances, or as yet unidentified assassin.

“The poison on the needle is arsenic. I can tell, but you’d need an expert in pharmacology herbal medicine in order to make a conclusive determination,” said Layla quietly. 

“Great, but how does that help us?” 

“The poison itself is of a type that mimics death once it has entered the victim’s bloodstream. “We could have Lionel do a scan on the box, and perhaps that will give us a clue, or at least point us in the right direction,” she replied.

“Good idea,” he replied.

“What are you going on about?” demanded Theresa.

“We’ve got good news and bad news, and indifferent news; which do you want first?” asked Madrox

“Spill it,” replied Theresa.

“Well, the indifferent news is that we still have no idea why our mysterious ‘friend’ would want to harm your father, the good news is that he’s not going to die, at least not yet.”

“The bad news,” Layla added. “Is that it’s a slow acting poison, but if we don’t locate an antidote soon, he will die.”

“Then our next course of action, should be obvious, I should think,” Theresa remarked. “We find out who sent the box, find him, and make him reveal where we can lay our hands on the antidote.”

“You are staying here,” protested Madrox.

“Not on your life,” retorted Theresa, sweetly but with an undercurrent of steel beneath it.

“I wouldn’t argue with our hostess, if I were you,” Monet remarked.

“Then it’s settled,” Theresa replied. “Gideon will escort you out of the manor, and then out to the back where he will provide horses and a perhaps a coach if one can be had at so late an hour. As soon as I’ve changed into traveling clothes I will join up with you and we can begin.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Gideon replied excitedly.

“But, but, shouldn’t someone stay with your father? Madrox made one last attempt to stem the tide of events, but to no avail. He glanced around at all of those gathered in the den, and gave it up as a poor attempt.

“All right, let’s go.”  
****  
Enrique Sandoval found his lord in the solar, standing in the center of the lavishly decorated chamber like a statue, his face as graven as that a painted church icon.  
Most people, nobles and commoners alike would see that expression on the newly crowned king’s head and if it were truly important, wait to be acknowledged before interrupting their sovereign. If it were a matter of lesser importance would back out and come back later when James the 6th would be in a more receptive moods; no one wished to be on the receiving end of his legendary tirades. 

For Prime Minister Enrique Sandoval, on the other hand, he did not number himself in either of those aforementioned categories.

He entered the solar the heels of his polished black shoes clicking on the tiles. 

He crossed the distance to the center of the room, with the light of midday slanting in through the high-arched and lead-paned windows. 

 

Heavy velvet drapery colored a rich maroon had been tied back with white silk ribbons and it seemed as the two men in the room had been drenched in light. Enrique, while never having ever been accused of having been a sentimental man, found the contrasts of light and shadow rather fetching, in its own way. He paused before tapping his king on the shoulder with the index finger of his left hand. 

James whirled around, his handsome face a mask of directionless fury, his eyes not seeing his first minister at first but something or someone far away or at least not visible to other’s sight.

But, after a few heartbeats he recovered from his fit and fixed his watery blue-eyed gaze on the older man. “Enrique, your pardon, my thoughts, I must admit were far away, with the beautiful canals and streets of Holland.”

“Ah, yes, but that is not what is what I have come to discuss with you,” replied Enrique.

“No, then what?”

“Indeed, but what I wish to discuss,” he trailed off and rubbed his chin with his left hand,” is a matter delicate, elegant in its planning stages but much more difficult in execution.”

James nodded, “I sense your meaning. If I did not you know any better, my good man, I would think you could follow the very courses of my thoughts, but that is not the case, is it?”

“No, Your Majesty, I cannot, and I would not dare to pry even if I had such powers, but it pleases me to hear you bring it up, because it leads into what I must say.”

"Speak, and we will hear,” James replied gravely, believing that he knew what was on his minister’s mind. 

If he was correct, it would have to do with all of those unsettling rumors that had been circulating around the country in recent months, about how bizarre lightning storms had swept the countryside, how a foursome of friends and families had developed amazing and paranormal abilities, and had even managed to escape the complex nets that he had set for them; even with the aid of his late mother’s most seasoned and trusted spy, Sir Nicholas Fury. 

“As you well know, I have done my best to substantiate the rumors, to sift the truth from hyperbole and then from outright lies; and the upshot of all this is that, the truth, however strange and uncanny it might be, is that there are people out there who have come to develop powers and abilities unlike any the world has ever seen before.”

“I know, I know, but the question is, what do we do about it? Reed Richards and his group have already escaped me and there are others. Are you telling me, that there are more, still here in Britain?

“Yes, that is exactly what I am saying, “replied Enrique, smiling a bleak and confident smile that would not have been out of place on a vulture.

“What do they call themselves, these extraordinary people?” asked James.

“One word,” Enrique replied. “the Witchbreed. And with your approval, Your Majesty, I have already set the wheels in motion, to assure that that will not live to see the dawn of the new year.”

“As always, Enrique, you have it. Do whatever must be done to rid ourselves and Britain of the Witchbreed. You are dismissed.”

“As you command,” replied Enrique, bowing and then turned around and left the solar.  
***  
Meanwhile, outside of the manor:

Julian Richter, leaned back in order to relieve at least some of the tightness in his muscles from hours spent working in his forge, and was only partly successful in doing so. His body ached, his hands ached, and his thoughts kept running in circles. 

While he was well aware that his life was far better than it had been when he’d be found and taken in by the Cassidy family, he still wondered why it was that he could never be completely satisfied with his life. 

Every so often, although the frequency of such events had become much less in the last few years, he would wake up from a sound sleep in a cold sweat, with the sheets of his bed wadded up in a knot at the foot of his bed; memories of being accused and tried as a witch. This had followed shortly after he had come to the startling realization that he possessed an ability that no one had ever seen or heard of before. 

At first this had seemed like a blessing, and he had gone abroad to experiment and learn how to get a handle on just what his newfound abilities could do, however, he learned that it was like a force of nature, awesome but more than he could safely control on his own. 

His large extended family had done their level best to hush it up, but in a close-knit community such as theirs, secrets had a distressing habit of getting out eventually. Eventually, even though his power was not only reason he had eventually determined to run away from home, but it was a predominant one, he had left. Holding the hands of his youngest cousin, seeing the mingled fear and love in her big brown eyes, Julian had almost but not quite had second thoughts about leaving but it was the only option open to him now. 

His cousin, being more than a little wise beyond her years, had cried and made him promise to write when he was safe and settled.

He had run away, north, which seemed the land of opportunity, a place to make a fresh start, and for a time, despite several false starts he had eventually wound up in the Virginia Bay Colony of Roanoke, and while he had never really thought that his family’s business of black-smithing would actually come in handy he managed to find work in the saloons and the proprietors would pay him a decent wage and give room and board into the bargain.

But even then, rumors had a way of spreading, and man named Cameron Hodge, a smooth, glib and persuasive business-man fresh off one of the many ships come over from England in the wake of King James the 1st rabid condemnation of Christians, learned of his extraordinary abilities. 

Although the man had a way of getting others to do his dirty work for him, it was apparent to anyone with eyes to see that he the motive force behind the grass-roots public outcry against those who were different, and eventually the man had come to his place and work, at the back of a posse, and had personally escorted Julian to the pillory and convinced the local magistrate to try him as witch.

Perhaps if it hadn’t been for the Cassidys’ he might even still be there locked up in a jail somewhere, or he might even be dead. The fact of the matter was that the entire experience still haunted him, which he really hated.

Just at that moment, when he considered quitting for the day, cleaning himself up and heading into his small cottage and a good night’s sleep, hopefully without the recurring nightmare, he heard footsteps just outside the threshold to the forge’s entrance.

“Whatever it is you want, it will have to wait until morning, I’m just about to close up for the evening,” he said.

The man came in, seemingly not having heard and rapidly crossed the distance where he was illuminated in the light from the oil lamps and torches flickering in their sconces along the walls of the forge. 

“I regret that I must disturb you at such a late hour, but I have a pressing need of a master blacksmith. And I was told I could find someone matching that description here at Cassidy Manor.”

Julian blushed, “You were told this, huh? By whom?”

The red-headed man simply smiled charmingly and disarmingly, and in a completely unhelpful manner.

“The fact of the matter is that I need my swords repaired, and I am willing to pay handsomely for it.”

“For the sake of argument, what type of sort are we talking about here? By the look of you, you’re not from around here. I need to before I agree to take on your commission.”

“Of course,” the taller man replied. And quite calmly gave a supple shrug of his shoulders and no sooner than Julian could blink a pair of double-bladed and wickedly sharp blades slid out of the sleeves of the man’s white leather jacket.

“May I ask what your name is?”

“Shatterstar.”

“Oh, right, because that makes ever so much sense.”

“It is my name,” the other man replied with another repetition of one of the red-headed man’s supple shrugs, and this time, quite without meaning to, or make it obvious that he was doing so, Julian realized that he was staring and forcibly slapped his hands against his leather slacks and forced the conversation back around to business at hand.

“It looks like they got snapped off somewhere about midway down their length.”

“Can you repair it?” asked Shatterstar.

“I think so, but it might take a while, because I’ll need your help to heat up the forge again.” 

Even as he said this last it occurred to Julian that somewhere along the way quite without his being aware of it, his fatigues and aches had suddenly melted away. He shook his head and thought, ‘Well, damn it, as the old saying goes one should never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when this one is staring you right in the face flashing those bright pearly whites. Ah, Madre de Dios! He is gorgeous. Get a grip, Julian; you’ve got a job to do.”

“Of course, whatever assistance you require.” Shatterstar, and taking the broken swords he walked over to a nearby table that was used to store any number of tools and supplies, and set them down in a relatively clear space, blowing the dust off first before he did so.

Julian came over to study the blades, picking them up and hefting them, realizing as he did so, that while they looked brittle and light, they were actually much heavier than they appeared. He mentally went over the just the right amount of lead, and charcoal and other ingredients that he would require and how much heat and hammering that would be needed to restore the blades to their original condition.

He set the broken blades down and turned to face their owner. “Let’s get to work.”

Eventually, the two men settled into a solid rhythm, one hammering and bending the iron ore on his forge, the aches and concerns of hours earlier completely subsumed in the familiar routines of working.

Meanwhile the other took instructions, their conversation limited to terse requests and responses.

With the dew of a new day glistening on the grass just outside the forge, Julian looked up his face damp with perspiration and something like satisfaction. “You won’t be disappointed with these babies, my friend.”  
Shatterstar again offered one of his enigmatic, off-center grins. “I had a feeling you would say that. Thank you, my friend.”’

“Huh? Julian replied, then shrugged, adding “Just give me a moment to take them off and cool them off in the dipper.” 

Suiting thought to action he picked up a pair of tongs, pincered the blades one by one and by and turned to immerse them in a bucket full of water, where they give off a cloud of steam as they went into the water. He repeated this process for each of the blades in turn.

Then he stood silently for a moment regarding his handiwork where they lay on the work-bench, absentmindly wiping his hands on his stained smock. They were beautiful to look at it; there was no doubt in his mind on that score. 

Stealing a glance at their owner, he had the uncanny sense that if anyone had ever created a pair of swords that so matched its owner, then it had to be these. 

Shatterstar pattered over to stand beside him, and both men regarded the results of their work in silence, before he at last felt moved to break it. He reached down, took hold of the other man’s shoulder and spun him around until they were face to face. 

Never really one to think through his actions, he tilted his head down and brushed his lips against the other man’s mouth, delicately at first, then ever more intensely, until it seemed as if he were a drowning man, just within sight of a safe harbor; and was just about to go under for the final time.

When he at last stopped, he was flushed and that gleam was back in his blue gaze.

“Why the hell did you do that for?” Julian spluttered. 

“Because, I wished to thank you for the excellent work,” replied Shatterstar.

“Come on now! That can’t be the only reason!”

“No, it is not. Because, I felt like doing it, because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I can tell by the look in your eyes that you do not believe any of that, so, I will attempt to be candid with you.”

“I wish you would, because I am hot, tired, and really pissed off right now, so a little openness would go a long way towards....Oh the hell with it! Why?”

“Because, well it felt like the thing to do at the moment, and I have never really been one to deny my impulses.”

“Your what?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh, Great, just great! I cannot believe any of this is actually happening to me, and I am more than likely going to regret this afterwards. But, do you have a place to stay?”

“No.”

“Then come over to my place, and we’ll consider what our next move should be.”

“Ours?”

“Yeah, did anyone ever tell you that you are the most confounded, vexing and incorrigible person it has ever been my misfortune to meet?”

“No, but I shall welcome the opportunity,” replied Shatterstar.

Julian threw up his hands in mingled anger and frustration, “Let’s get out of here.”

***  
Theresa and Gideon went about introducing Julian to Madrox and his team and once the pleasantries had been dispensed with they got down to business. 

While he had agreed to bring them along, more because it kept him from having to argue the decision with Theresa Cassidy he still was uncertain what to make of the strange red-head mercenary with the double-bladed swords.

The man was tall and slender, but well-muscled and he carried those razor-sharp swords of his strapped to a harness that he wore on his back. He also gave off the air of one who would be more than capable of taking care of himself in a fight. 

In fact, Madrox could detect a gleam in those bright blue eyes that the man would welcome a challenge at the first opportunity. That attribute both intrigued him and worried him; there was a fine line between willing to fight and charging head-long into a battle with looking before you leapt.

“Theresa, I don’t mean to interrupt, but could you please clue me in into what’s going on here,” Julian demanded.

“Of course, and not just because I know how impatient you can be,” Theresa replied with a smile and a pat on his shoulder. She had brought the young man over from the New World during one of the many unorthodox business trips that she had accompanied her father on. 

When she had found him, he’d been on the run, living as a hired hand on any farmsteads that would take him in, and at one point it had been discovered that he had a definite and subtle hand when it came to metal-work and soon employed him as her personal blacksmith.

She shook her head and nodded. “Julian, time is of the essence, my father has been poisoned and the only lead we have is neglible at best.”

“Poisoned! Madre De Dios!” exclaimed Julian.

“Who?”” interrupted Shatterstar.

“The owner of the manor,” Julian whispered to him.

“Oh, I just wanted to be kept abreast of matters at hand,” he whispered back.

“She’s right, about the time-frame,” interrupted Layla. “Where are those promised horses, Miss Cassidy?”

“Oh, of course,” Theresa said, and turned to a line of low-roofed buildings where the scent of horses, hay and manure wafted over to where they stood in the early November morning breeze. 

“You still got that destrier for me, Ma’am?,” asked Gideon. “Otherwise I might just as well walk as ride. Because it wouldn’t do anyone much good if I kill the poor beast before we get to wherever it is we’re going.”

“Of course,” Theresa replied.

She disappeared into the depths of the stables for a moment, but shortly reemerged with a train of horses on a lead line, the mounts snorting and snuffling, most bright-eyed bushy tailed despite the early hour, several a bit sullen at having to be out in the cold. True to her word, there were enough for all of them including the promised horse intended for Sir Carosella.

“Do we even know where we’re going?” asked Madrox, leaping into the saddle of his mount and nearly toppling off for lack of paying attention to what he was doing.

“Lionel, did you get a definite hit on where that confounded music box came from?” asked Layla, now seated on her own mount, a white palfrey with a black patch over its left eye.

“Of course,” replied Lionel. “The early hour might actually be in our favor, for there will be very little foot and carriage traffic in the city, and our party will not attract any attention.”

“Where? Damn it, man!” exclaimed Madrox.

Lionel heaved a sigh and then said, “The edge of town, where the forge in embassies are located, more precisely I cannot say for certain.”

“Try and remember,” encouraged Monet. She had taken a black mare and seemed quite at home on horse-back.

“I did get one quite definite image; a flag with a black matte stylized mask on a green field bisected at the left corner with a black cross.”

Madrox, sighed, and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples with the heels of his free hand; the other wrapped around the reins, and uttered the one word that he had hoped he would never have to. “Latervia.”

“What’s that?” Monet demanded.

“It’s a small country, ruled by Otto Von Doom. It’s small, insular, and I guess you would term it an absolute monarchy, but that doesn’t mean the man isn’t among the movers and shakers of European politics,” Theresa added.

“Wait, a sec, why are they coming with us?” demanded Monet.

“Because, Julian’s my friend, Theresa said. “And if he wants to come along, fine, the more the merrier, I always say.”

“Uh, his name is Shatterstar. I can’t seem to get rid of him so he might as well come with us, right?”

“I suppose so, but we’ll discuss it later,” Theresa replied.

Shatterstar, for his part, ignored this discussion and turned to regard James Madrox. “Why do you sound so despondent?”

 

“Because the man is also reported to be a master inventor, if he is in fact behind the attempted assignation of Mr. Cassidy, and for the moment we have to assume that he is, getting in out of his embassy won’t be easy.”

“I just hope that we don’t have to go all the way to Latervia,” Layla said under her breath.  
***

 

The Latervian Embassy, midnight

The ride to the embassy was uneventful and the grumbling had been kept to a minimum, for which Madrox was grateful. 

The Latervian embassy building was large, rambling and boasted a massive iron gate that stood twice that height of a man fronting onto into a hedge garden with stone statues.

Unlike the embassies belong to other foreign countries that had sent representatives to England the building either had not had to share space with its neighbors, or the owner had reached an understanding that he chose to remain aloof and apart from his peers. 

Given what little they knew about the enigmatic and some said eccentric Count Victor Van Doom he would not have put it past him.

“How do we get in?” he asked of no one in particular.

“We could just knock?” suggested Guido as he dismounted and began to perform several deep knee bends, while his horse rolled its eyes and snorted, seemingly both relieved and disgruntled at the having his weight off its back. He stopped what he was doing long enough to mock-growl at the animal.

“We’ll get you home, fellow, but this time I’ll walk home, so you’re off the hook,” Gideon whispered to his horse.

“Why don’t I fly over?” suggested Monet, and do some reconnaissance.”

“Excellent idea, Monet,” Madrox suggested, but I’m afraid we may not have time to wait for that.”

Jamie dismounted trying not to show that his derrier ached, and instead focusing on the job at hand. “Lionel, find a place to hide the horses, if only for their own safety. If this does go pear-shaped we’ll need to make a fast get-away.”

“Understood,” Lionel replied, getting off his horse, then gathered up the reins of the mounts, waiting until everyone else in the group had dismounted, and then led the horses off to one side. 

Where he found and embracement over-shadowed by a grove of alder trees. He looked up and away to where the building stood and then to his chosen hiding spot, and back again, and then walked away to ascertain that they were well-hidden.

That task accomplished Lionel returned to the others.

“What is the plan?”

“Let me think! Damn you! Madrox swore.

“Might I suggest that we strike while the iron is hot?” interjected Shatterstar. And with an apparently effortless motion stood up in the saddle, balanced and gathered himself for a leap into up and outward, clearing the topmost spikes of the massive gate as if they were not even there.

“That, that was different,” whispered Julian.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Madrox muttered back to him

“Show-off,” Monet said half-mockingly, half-seriously. 

Monet was still undecided about the recent addition to the raiding party as she liked to think of it, and it had very little to do with the fact that red-head seemed quite able to take care of himself in a fight. 

She was well aware that she seemed to have a kind of mental blockade up when it came to letting people in, even her closest friends; and allies were another matter entirely. On the other hand, until proven otherwise Monet  
decided that she would extend her trust just so far, because, she had a feeling that it would prove most instructive as well as interesting to do so.

“I donna care, as long as he unlocks the gate from the other side,” Theresa added. “Any guards? She called the red-headed mercenary.

“None, so far,” Shatterstar replied. “I shall unlock the barrier for all of you!”

“Does he always act like this?” Gideon asked Julian.

“How should I know? I just met him.”

“Oh, really, “ Gideon began, priming for another witty, ribbing remark to the brown-haired black smith’s choice in acquaintances, when the sound of grinding, metal rubbing up against metal interrupted whatever he was about to say.

 

**  
In the dim lighting of the moon scudding overhead in a net of smoky gray clouds and the smoldering torches of the embassy grounds hampered his efforts to make out any distinguishing features among their attackers. Add to that difficulty was because each man wore matching dark green tunics and slacks, with some kind of unreadable symbol and a cowl covering their heads.

Their attackers came at their team like the incoming tide of an ocean, constant, tireless and remorseless with certain knowledge that eventually they would get what they wanted, namely deter or destroy their opponents. Each cowled man was armed with some kind of long, thick-barreled rifle with a needle-nosed device attached to it. With each press of the trigger the rifles emitted a kind of greenish gray cloud of smoke

James Madrox had never been much of a believer in proverbial sayings, even such common ones as a stitch in time saves nine, or if it was a bear it would have eaten you, but the one that was pounding at the back of his mind just at the moment, was, ‘these guys are coming out of the woodwork like termites! Where the hell could they be hiding that we couldn’t sniff them out, or at least execute some kind of ambush?

Seemingly, Monet appeared to have read his mind. 

Or, it could have simply been a case of her having known him long enough to have anticipated his thoughts. 

Monet shoved aside a half-dozen of attackers, and no sooner than they had fetched up against the feet of a sculpted hedge-lion than another half dozen had taken their place. These she dispatched, batting them away as if they were a swarm of flies.

Meanwhile, Theresa stood with her hands on her hips, loose strands of fiery red hair coming undone from the leather thong that she tied it up in, a challenging gleam in her startling green eyes. Suddenly, a high-pitched keening wail split the air, freezing the marrow in his bones. The wail travelled and soon the knot of attackers, who were coming at her halted in their tracks, clasped their gloved hands to their ears and collapsed face-down on the ground.

“Good work, Theresa!” Maddrox shouted, his own ears ringing with the reverberations of her extraordinary ability.

“Thank ye, Mr. Madrox.”

Julian and Gideon had been separated during from the melee from the others and while the other man used his incredible size and strength to keep the cowled men from over-running their position, Julian did not have that luxury.

Despite his determination not to use his powers, more because he still felt that he had yet achieved complete control over them, nevertheless Julian wanted to do whatever it took to help Theresa and her father, and if that meant defending himself and his new acquaintances, then so be it. ‘Madre de Dios, what have I gotten myself into this time?’ he thought and then shoved the thought to a back corner of his mind.

He drew in a deep breath and let his vibratory powers flow out through his hands, watching the attackers topple over among the shrubbery and the statues. 

Shatterstar meanwhile, had rushed head-long into the fight, his mind occupied with the strike and counterstrike of exchanging blows with any all comers, leaping with the same astonishing agility that he had shown at the gates. 

Lionel, although he was not one to begrudge anyone pride of place, could not help but feeling an oddly detached feeling of something bordering on the edge of his memory. Somehow, with his not quite being aware of it, that two of them had been cut from the same cloth, or that they had met once, perhaps in another lifetime. 

Shatterstar stood with one boot on the chest of a downed attacker, his sword at the man’s throat and had just delivered the coup de grace when he sensed more than felt a pair of hands tugging at him and a voice shouting in his hear to stop and calm down. 

“Damn it!” He’s dead! Turning to confront the red-headed mercenary Madrox felt as if he needed to hit someone or something repeatedly, while the anger that seethed inside him was not because the man was dead, but he might very well be the only chance to find the antidote that they so desperately required to save the life of Mr. Cassidy.

“I believe that I smote too hard,” Shatterstar remarked quietly, completely nonchalant about it. “Do you speak of mercy for a defeated foe, Mr. Madrox?”

“No, I speak of the chance to question a prisoner.” He realized that he was shaking and took a moment to suck in much-needed air in order to calm down.

“Leave him be!” Julian shouted, rushing forward, and grabbing Madrox by his shoulders and shoved.  
Madrox whirled around and began to shove back, neither gaining or losing much ground in the brief altercation.

Much to everyone’s surprise a pair of slender hands came up to separate them. “Enough, what’s done is done.” Layla turned to regard Jamie for a lengthy time, and he eventually backed down. “I think we can still salvage much from this encounter, for one thing we have more than sufficient evidence, and more importantly, look what I found in the lining of our 'friend’s' cloak.”

“A vial? Julian shook his head in confusion. “What good will that do is.?”

“Ah, but it’s the antidote," remarked Layla calmly.

“How do you know that?” Theresa asked, her expression shifting between shock, anger, and exhaustion, her throat more than a bit raw, and her nerves on edge from the recent fight. She forced herself to calm down and  
hear whatever it was that this strange, and oddly detached, yet wise beyond her years girl had to say for herself.

“Because I know stuff,” replied Layla, and after a moment of studying the expressions of those gathered in the courtyard, she finally replied, “and because the bottle has been helpfully labeled ‘antidote to arsenic poisoning in German.”

“You speak German?” Theresa asked.

“No, I read German,” Layla replied. “ We should get this to your father as quickly as possible. I fear that if we linger here much longer, it might not do any good.”

“Then, by all means, let’s get the hell out of here!” Madrox exclaimed.

****

 

“What will you do now?” asked Julian warily. As sudden and an unexpected as their newfound relationship had seemed, it exhilarated him and frightened him, at the same time. 

He simply did not know if he was willing to give up it so easily. The other man’s facial expressions, body language and emotions were much more difficult to read. Perhaps, that was part of his obvious physical attraction, that he was a mystery. 

“Julian, I have been a man on a journey to find himself for so long,” sighed the other man. “I believe I realize just how well, pretentious that sounds.” These past few days have been, in a word, quite exhilarating.”

“Why do I get the feeling that only you would get off on every near-death experience that you can possibly jump head- first into?”

“You see, you do understand. I’ve been a mercenary for so long, and frankly I’ve very little patience with the types of men and women who hire me, and it is no longer about the money.”

“Then what is it?” asked Julian.

“For me it has always been about personal pride, personal honor, and no matter what if the job is done to the best of my abilities, so that alone has become reason enough.”

“Did you ever consider doing anything else?”

Shatterstar shook his head, the warmth and glow from the fire in the hearth making his skin shimmer with a faintly lumiscient glow. His blue eyes gleamed and began to rock back and forth on the davenport that he shared with Julian. His hands, up until now, had been resting on his knees, came up and around and pulled Julian into his well-muscled torso.

“I trust you, and I would give my life if it meant saving yours.”

Julian sighed and tried to look away, at anything else, other than the frustrating, fascinating and irrepressible man who sat across from him in the over-stuffed armchair in Cassidy Manor’s parlor; the effort only partially successful and probably quite transparent to the other man.

“Damn it, why do you always come out with such overly sentimental and over-dramatized statements? It makes me feel all squishy inside?” Julian exclaimed.

Shatterstar did not reply immediately, tilting his head and the shifting light of the fire casting the planes and angles of his face in a mummer’s mask of light and shadow, before he looked up again and locked gazes with Julian. “I have been told that I needed to learn to feel things, good and bad.”

“Who told you that?”

“Theresa.”

“That gossip!”

“Do not be angry with her. I did pressure it out of her. But I have honestly never met anyone quite like you Julian Richter. If you recall what I was trying to explain to you upon our initial encounter, for too long I have been as a man adrift on a lonely ocean, never quite within sight of shore. This, relationship, if you will call it that, will be of benefit to both of us.”

It was as close to a vulnerable note that Julian could ever recall hearing in his new friend’s face and while they had not known each other for very long, somehow, the knot of anxiety and the need to close himself off to anyone who had tried to get close to him, emotionally and even physically, began to loosen.

“Okay, okay. I’m willing to give it a shot, if you are.”

For a response, Shatterstar merely rubbed his large, strong hands through Julian’s hair and began to kiss him until any thoughts of doing anything else simply melted away.  
**

The two women sat in front of a roaring fireplace, sipping wine, and making idle conversation, for a while, before Theresa at least broached the subject that had been on her mind for some time now.

“So, you believe that that attempt on me Da’s life was because he found out something important about the conspiracy that led to Queen Elizabeth’s life? Important enough, that they would risk trying to silence him before he could warn anyone.”

“It would make sense, given everything we’ve learned thus far,” Monet replied.

“Do you think he will recover?

“He’s strong, healthy and stubborn, and if properly treated by a proper physician and doesn’t push himself too hard in the coming months, than, yes, he will be fine.”

“That’s good to hear, although I think we can get the require dosage of garlic and what else into him if I convince the chef to add it to the menu.”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult, you have a more than adequate chef on your staff.”

“High praise coming from you,” Theresa replied, with a toss of her head.

“I meant it,” Monet replied. “What will you do now?” 

“I feel torn, a part of me knows that my place should be her, helping with me Da’s recovery, and running the manor, another part of me,” …she trailed off nervously tapping her fingernails on the edge of her chair.  
Monet, while she know that at any given time she could have simply reached into the other woman’s mind and sift around in there for whatever she wanted to pull out; she would not do that to Theresa Cassidy. 

It may have been due to the fact that Monet had made it a policy to not probe another person’s mind without their consent. The truth of the matter was that she admired the stubborn streak that ran Theresa like an invisible current.

On the other hand, it simply could have been that they had faced danger and adversity together.

As different as the pair of them were to all outward appearances, somewhere along the way they had managed to find common ground. 

“I believe it is time for me to forge my own destiny,” said Theresa at last.

“I wouldn’t dare to stand in the way of anything you wanted to, Theresa, but what do you want to do?”

“I want to explore the world. And yes, I realize just how unseemly and outrageous that would sound had I dared to mention that out loud to a room full of ever so proper and society-conscious people.”  
Monet smiled at that and nodded encouragingly. “Please, go on.” 

“Did you know, I once met Sir Francis Drake? The man may be the most successful privateer the open seas, but the man is an insufferable bore. I swear if he did not have royal favor on his side he’d been just one step short of being labeled a blackguard and a pirate.”

Monet could not help grinning at that, as for shocking high-society, well, I’ve never been to say nay to pushing the boundaries. As for the other matter, I suppose I will have to take your word on the subject.”

“You could always dress up as a man, use your family’s business and societal contacts and hire to find a place on a sea-faring ship that is looking for a hired-hand. Will you take Julian with you?

“Why do you ask?” Theresa demanded.

“Anyone with eyes in their hand can tell that he is quite loyal to your family, you especially, he told us how you saved him from the stocks in the New World when the locals were about to stone him alive for being a witch, or is it the proper term for a male, warlock? In any case, he hasn’t forgotten how you saved his life.”

“I suppose that I should. Poor lad, he’s been through so much and it’s twisted him all up inside.” She paused and ran her fingers through the strands of her red hair in order to give her time to think things over before she finally replied. “Are you serious that I should dress up as a man?”

“It was a joke, and I only meant half-heartedly,” replied Monet.

“Oh, then it’s all right. But, I so what do something, something that will make a difference in the world.”

After a moment or two of considering this last statement, Monet finally got up from her chair, came to stand beside Theresa and put a hand on her shoulder. “If I might make a suggestion?”

“Of course,” the other woman replied. 

“How about joining X-Factor, after all, we could always use new members.”

“Are ye serious?”

“Very.”

“I’d have to think about it, and if, not when I decide to take that step; I’ll have to make arrangements for my Da, but thank you, Monet, for listening to me natter on, for being there for me. Well, thank ye for everything.

“You’re welcome.”  
****

Conclusion

“I’ve heard that others have gone to the New World,” Layla casually remarked, “specifically to a colony called Roanoke Island.”

“It’s not like business is booming here in England, and even though the immediate danger of being hanged on the gallows or imprisoned is past, do you think that James will just forget about our involvement?,” Monet asked.

“Hardly, one thing is about clear as ditch water: that he has definite designs on those who have developed extraordinary abilities,” sighed Madrox. “I would have liked to fondly believe that we were too small a fish in a big pond to worry about.”

“But can we really afford to run that risk?” asked Lionel.

“I honestly don’t know the answer to that one,” replied Jamie. “And we do have the option of staying here until the storm dies down, and if our current headquarters gets blown to kingdom come, we do have a fall-back option.”

“That tub?” Monet exclaimed. 

“It’s sea-worthy,” Madrox retorted.

“Worst-case scenario,” added Theresa, “let’s say that the hunt for the Witchbreed does heat-up and we are in square in the eye of the storm, this option of leaving Britain and heading for the New World seems to be the most sensible one.”

“I concur,” replied Lionel.

“Theresa,” Julian exclaimed. 

“I know how you feel, Julian and I appreciate your sentiment that there are dangers that we have not determined yet. Also, if I haven’t already mentioned this I shall do so now. I am grateful to all of you in helping to save me Da’s life. With that said, with our money and connections it should be a simple matter to secure passage on a ship leaving Dover in two weeks’ time.”

“With any luck, we could get the lot of ye aboard and with no one the wiser,” Theresa said.

While most of Britain and the Continent had were only aware that land of any sort existed to the west over the bounding Atlantic, and that maps of the current day would often fancifully depict ships vanishing over the edge of the world, she could attest with her own eyes that there was indeed land to be found over the western horizon.

Although, given the way that other countries, England among them, went about acquiring the land and the resources of the countries that had thus far been discovered, she agreed wholeheartedly with her father, that for now, it would be best to keep that a closely guarded secret among those they most trusted.  
Sean grinned and then said: “I will not be going with you, but if I know my daughter, and I think that I do, she will do well by you. Trust her.”

“We do, Mr. Cassidy,” Monet replied.

“Then, it’s settled,” Sean smiled, and took a deeply contented sip of his wine glass. “A toast!” he declared as set it down on the table.

“To what?” Madrox asked.

“To new friendships and to new beginnings!” 

A chorus of ayes circled around the table. After a moment or two of silence, everyone stood up. Solemnly, they clinked their glasses together, to put the final seal on the sentiment.


End file.
